Atonement Session Ch. 01

Sheriff Donovan shook his head. "Naw, son, I think we've done enough here. So let's just call it a done deal and return the slave to her owner."

The two deputies holding the singer's arms released her and walked away toward the condemned criminals. Kylie followed, still holding up her microphone talisman. "What's the plan?" she asked. Her voice had gone back to its usual chipper self and she bounced along between the two women. Somehow that made her feel safe and her happy-and-excited professional demeanor was recovering somewhat.

The deputy she was interviewing was walking around one of the hanging criminals inspecting him. "We're going to fuck him to at least two orgasms. He's only had one so far and he needs to cum at least two more times to get the penisillin out of his system. So, we're going to help him out with that."

The deputy looked up at the face of the condemned man, "You like that, Sniffer? Are you ready for some butt-love? Because my strapon sure is. Oo-oo! Hey girls, guess what, let's name him Sniffer!"

Butt-fucking ensued. The female deputies were different from the ponies, they could talk. There was much ribald and degrading commentary as they got to work. The prisoner on the left, the former deputy, received his new slave name - "Sniffer". As it turns out, he had been caught more than once sniffing women's shoes in the locker room. Fratboy received his slave name as well - "Fratboy". Not exactly creative, but they had to call him something.

The prisoners jizzed... twice each. Shots were measured. Fratboy won again because Sniffer's cock was too curved. Because Sniffer was being butt-fucked at the time, his curved cock was bouncing up and down in time to the thrusts of the woman behind him and his chest and face got splashed with his own cum.

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Branding

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Before the show, Sheriff Donovan agreed that Harriette had permission to brand the men with the HH brand. Mr. Smith announced the branding to the audience. Mobile forges were brought in, and branding irons were heated in front of the condemned and humiliated criminals. The heat from the forges radiated toward them and heated the fronts of their sweating bodies.

A smiling black-clad studio hand monitored each forge.

As Harriette returned to the studio floor, Mr. Smith rushed up to her, microphone leading the way. "Ms. Valdez, the forges are ready."

Harriette went over to the forges and inspected them closely.

"Take them away," she ordered.

Then she turned to Mr. Smith. "Mr. Smith," she began, "Sheriff Donovan gave me permission to brand them with my brand... he did not tell me HOW to brand them. I introduce to you... Vortex!"

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Vortex is summoned.

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The smoke and light show began behind the curtain again. This time, no one came out. Instead, the curtain withdrew to one side, revealing a dark silhouette clad in mist.

Vortex marched outward through the billowing smoke. She did not stride - that's a running pace for ponies - she did not walk, she did not prance... she marched.

The delegation of deputies from Tarrant County had marched, too. They were free women, wearing human boots, under oath, backed by the authority of the State of Texas. They were soldiers marching into battle (wearing chromium-steel strapons!). Vortex was not a free woman, she was a slave. The only authority she had was derived from the commands of her owner, Mistress Harriette Valdez. As long as Vortex was acting under orders, she acted with the authority of a free woman. Not herself, of course, the authority of Mistress Harriette. It was enough. It would suffice.

She marched. Each powerful hoof slammed into the floor with a clap of thunder - the Slave Channel sound technicians were very good. Her pony costume was similar to that of the Evil Pony Minions who had preceded her. There were differences, though. It was necessary. The Minions were cute-evil, whereas Vortex was... pure-evil. Her thigh-high pony boots were crafted from the actual legs of an actual Clydesdale. Roscoe MacDougal, the HH Ranch's leatherworker, went to a meat-processing plant and claimed them himself... with a knife and an axe.

On her head-harness, she wore horns. Some pony owners liked to affix mock horse's ears to the head-harnesses of their ponies. Harriette decided that Vortex needed horns. She, Herself, went to a stockyard and personally selected the horns for Vortex. They were black and tightly-curled. They protruded from either side of her head, waxed and glistening with menace. This was not a fun little prancing pony, this was a pony of retribution. A pony of vengeance.

The Minions had been wearing their manes in fun and bouncy top-knots. It was cute and it was fun and their manes had swished and swayed as they had pranced about. Vortex was different. The sides of her head were shaven down to the bare skin on her first day as a slave and her long chocolate-brown hair had been harvested for a custom-made tail. So instead of the usual generic, slender nylon tail which exposed and sexualized the Minions' pert little asses, Vortex wore a bushy covering of her own hair. The denuded sides of her head were shaved daily and Harriette decorated each side with a savage scene of an on-rushing pack of demon-ponies, manes flowing, eyes glowing, fanged mouths open for the kill.

The Minions wore little golden bells hanging from short chains dangling from their pierced nipples. The little bells chimed and flashed in the light as their perky breasts bounced. Vortex's areola were covered with black shields decorated with a golden starburst design. They were attached by a bar that ran through her pierced nipples, which protruded through a hole on the center of the shields. The Minions had also had similar golden bells hanging from their pierced belly buttons and genitals, whereas the Vortex had nothing there. She was a performance pony, she was a completely different animal. One does not decorate such an animal, their performance IS their decoration.

Vortex marched between the two condemned criminals without sparing them a glance. They meant nothing to her, they barely even existed. They had raped Chloe Morgenstern in prison the night before Tarrant County enslaved her. She may have been in been in custody, but she was still a human being at the time. She had not been enslaved yet. If they had only been willing to wait a few more hours, then their crime would not have been a crime at all. It just would have been the way things are.

But they HAD done it while she was still - technically - a free woman. When Boss Caleb MacDougal inspected Harriette's new property in the courtroom, with her clothing still strewn about her on the floor like the wreckage of all of her hopes and dreams, he noticed something unexpected. "Yer Honor, can someone explain to me why this slave is bleeding from her rectum? Wasn't she a free woman just now? As in a minute ago? Can someone explain to me how Mistress Harriette's new property is already in a damaged condition?"

Chloe Morgenstern no longer existed. Chloe Morgenstern, still in pain from her anal rape the night before, had been legally expunged from the universe on that hot summer day in Texas twelve weeks ago. The Slave Court of Tarrant County had decreed it and it was so. But although Chloe Morgenstern no longer existed... Vortex remained.

When the still-nameless slave had been pulled - violently, by her hair - from her shipping crate, she had been confused, she had been terrified, she was all alone.

And then suddenly she wasn't. While she lay gasping and retching on the gravel, Mistress Harriette Valdez appeared above her. She knelt down on her stockinged legs, She looked the trembling girl in the eye... and read her soul. "I will name you Vortex," she spoke calmly in order to sooth the frightened slave.

"I will name you Vortex and you will become the instrument of my vengeance. Answer my question now, forever and for all time, as I will ask this question only once... will you be my instrument of vengeance on the men who harmed you?"

Lying there in the dirt, naked, covered in piss and sweat... she had no other choice, she had no other answer. The nameless slave girl gasped out, "Mistress Harriette, I am at your command."

The woman above her kept looking her in the eye, still reading her soul... and then nodded. Apparently, she had been found worthy. It was that tiny nod that began the rise of Vortex from the ashes of Chloe's life.

"Then it will be so. Chloe will have her vengeance and so shall I. After that, we shall see. I have not decided yet."

Then the Mistress was gone, her overwhelming presence withdrawn from the newly-named slave Vortex as she strode away barking orders, "You, you, and you! Get Vortex cleaned up and put her in a stall to rest. Training starts immediately, Whipmaster Kim will be here this evening for an evaluation. Do not delay!"

In the present, Vortex marched toward the announcer group as if to go past... then halted. She turned to face her Mistress with a "Clop-STAMP!" of her feathered hooves. In her pony boots, Vortex was an intimidating 6'3" in height. Her torso, almost entirely exposed in her pony leathers, was lean and powerful, a graceful pillar of female athleticism and sensuality. In her elegant stilettos and fully-clothed, her Mistress was almost the same height. The two women gazed at one another. No words were exchanged. No words were needed. All orders had long ago been given and received. Mistress Harriette Valdez reached to her hip, unsnapped a leather loop, and handed her slave the bullwhip.

The now-almost-naked slave announcer Kylie had just approached Ms. Valdez at the same time as the demonic vengeance pony in an attempt to get a few words in. Instead, she gasped and stepped back as the slave-Mistress handed over the ultimate symbol of a slaver's power - a bull whip. Since the dawn of human civilization, there had been slavery. And since the dawn of slavery, there had been the bull whip. Ms. Valdez had just handed one away... to a slave. The slave announcer's startled reaction was noted, and the final edited version of today's events would feature it prominently. The President watched the entire interaction and turned to Mortie, "Time to sell this one, don't you think?"

To all persons outside of their marriage, Mortie was the classic actor/model/barista/gold-digger. The truth was somewhat different. Although Mortie was, in fact, all of those things, he was also something more than that. His golden-maned California surfer looks concealed a keen mind and he was the President's trusted sounding board for personnel decisions. He didn't answer right away, though. "I need a blowjob," he said, "we got any cock-sucking whores about?"

The President smirked and smacked the cock-sucking whore at his feet on the side of the head, "Suck his cock!" he ordered. The miserable fallen pop star shuffled over to Mortie on her knees and he grabbed her head by her trademarked topknot and slammed her mouth down on his growing hardon. In his view, woman were either cock sucking whores or commodities to be sold... or both. It mattered not.

"Well, honey," Mortie replied to his husband while thrusting his cock into the girl's mouth, "We have at least three in the pipeline that would be good fits. This announcer slut is nearly 21 now, and that's seriously pushing hard into MILF territory. I say we get her sold and replace her with that Asian bitch we just bought from Singapore. The one that was the daughter or niece or whatever of the previous dictator-for-life, Fang Kwang or whatever. She speaks pretty good American and I think that our viewers will enjoy her exotic looks."

The President nodded contemplatively. "Agreed, let's talk more after the show. I say we dispose of this slut and replace her with that Singapore whore you mentioned."

Down on the studio floor, Vortex accepted the bullwhip, then turned aside. She looked about. She wasn't pleasure pony. She wasn't a happy little thing who lived to please others. Vortex was a performance pony. She listened to guidance... she did not simply obey commands as given, because she was more than that. More was expected of her. She was expected to obey her Mistress's orders, she was expected to obey her Mistress's will. Actual commands were simply... guidelines.

As Vortex turned and looked about, she observed the surrounding environment while she decided exactly how to go about following her Mistress's orders. Behind her was Sheriff Donovan talking to a row of female deputies, most of whom were looking quite pleased with themselves. Some were still sporting their shiny silver-colored strapons. This was a group of people Vortex considered worthy of her attention. They were gunslingers. Always keep an eye on the gunslingers in the room.

Surrounding everyone was a C-shaped bleacher filled with VIPs. She recognized them, she knew them. Not personally, not individually, but as a clutch, she knew exactly who they were. They were the good-looking, they were the well-connected, they were the popular, they were the wealthy, they even included youtubers. For the most part, they were worthless and meaningless vermin whose presence she simply blocked from her mind. Especially the youtubers.

But in the bleachers was a man she had been told to look for, it was the President of the Slavery Channel.

She spotted him looking in her direction and offered him the slave salute that she had given Harriette. It was the same salute that the gladiators in ancient times had offered to the Roman Emperor from the sands. For that is what Vortex was. She may be a slave, but she was still a warrior, she was still a gladiator... and her day was going to be a bloody one... in the service of her Empress.

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The Whipping Scene: You Were Warned

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Author's Note: Below is an ordinary whipping followed by a second, far more brutal whipping. I honestly don't enjoy S&M stuff, but it's a necessary component to make this story work. I like making legal slavery fun and sexy for my characters, but can't avoid that fact that slavery can also be randomly terrible and cruel. The bad ending storylines are necessary to make the good ending storylines stronger, because the characters that we like are avoiding a darker fate. In most cases, I prefer to include bad endings by reference only, thus keeping them off screen. However, in this case, I felt that we needed to have a closer look. Plus, these turds deserve every lash, so there's that. If anyone is confused by that, please let me know so that I can explain it to you.

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Vortex turned and gazed impassively at the two formerly human targets that hung before her. One of them, in her former life as the now-erased Chloe Morgenstern, had been Chloe's boyfriend. Frustrated by Chloe's continued refusal to submit to anal sex, he booked a fun trip from Boston to Dallas to spend a few days at a pony ranch. At least there he could indulge in his as-yet-unfulfilled fantasy of sodomizing helpless girls against their will. Chloe and four of his fraternity brothers accompanied him. The trip hadn't ended well.

After eluding their assigned groom - a fat, minimum-wage high school graduate - they had arrived at a secluded picnic area and discovered that they didn't have the groom's key-wrench that was necessary to detach the ponies from the cart. Chloe helpfully volunteered the box-cutter in her purse and used it to cut the ponies loose. That's what led to the most damning charge against them. Viciously sexually-assaulting helpless slave girls wasn't really a significant crime, it was cutting them loose from their cart-bondage that led to the most serious charge - "abolitionism while armed with a deadly weapon."

Under Texas law, releasing a slave from bondage without a valid emergency reason was a felony punishable by years of slavery at a bare minimum. If the prosecutor can prove that a defendant released a slave from bondage - and Chloe had in fact done so - then the defendant must then prove that they believed that it needed to be done in order to remove the slave from an ongoing emergency situation. A housefire is a valid emergency. A bound slave forgotten in a hot car on a 100-degree summer day is a valid emergency. "My boyfriend wants to buttfuck her" is NOT a valid emergency. That's why Fratboy and his frat-bros had been able to pay some fines and get released on the same day, whereas Chloe - who hadn't harmed any of the slaves - had been stuck languishing in prison overnight. Harming a slave was a mere property crime, punishable by a fine.

Returning to the prison the night, Fratboy bribed a guard, the man now hanging on her left, to give him access to Chloe's cell so that he could finally claim her anal virtue before he left town. He had enjoyed ravishing her virgin and helplessly-bound ass very much, and the guard had followed suit after he left. That's why THEY were here tonight.

VORTEX was here tonight because Mistress Harriette Valdez, her Sun and Stars, had commanded it. Not that she was unwilling. Destroying evil-doers was now her life's purpose. These creatures were merely her first targets... they would not be the last. The woman formerly known as Chloe Morgenstern had been sentenced to five years of penal slavery. And there were a LOT of rapists and other sorts of evildoers in the world who needed a bit of "attitude adjustment" as part of their introduction to slavery. Vortex was perfect for the job.

As these memories filtered through Vortex's thoughts, Mistress Harriette's bull whip began to slither on the studio floor as though slowly gaining a life of its own. Rhythmic flickers of the demon-pony's wrist translated into waves of motion down the length of supple, braided leather. The savage weapon rose into the air at the end of her toned arm, whirled behind her and, as she stepped forward on her mighty hooves driving her body weight forward, the instrument of power whistled through the air toward the condemned target.

"Whoosh-CRACK!" the sound of the whip echoed throughout the chamber. The targeted creature screamed into its gag and began thrashing. A black-clad studio hand equipped with extremely thick gloves, heavy-duty protective goggles, and an enormous hazard-pay paycheck grabbed the thrashing criminal and slowed his twisting and swaying. While he was doing that, the whip fell to the ground and then slithered toward the vengeful demon-pony before leaping back into the air and hurling itself toward the next victim.

Methodically, like a dot-matrix printer from the depths of Hell, the demon-pony inscribed the badge of her owner's ranch on the criminals' upper backs, spanning the entire width of the men's shoulders.

When she was done, Vortex returned to her ready position, one hoof in front of the other, the whip trailing on the studio floor behind her. She was still. Her whip was still... for now. The pattern of raised red welts across the condemned men's upper backs clearly displayed the brand of the HH Ranch. It was her Mistress's brand and she had done her duty. Here and there, the whip marks intersected, and from some of those spots, thin trickles of blood ran down the men's backs. But for the most part it was only a pattern of welts. She had been very precise. The condemned men were in terrible pain, but the physical marks and the pain would fade in time. The memory of today, though, that would last a lifetime.

Mistress Harriett inspected Vortex's work. "Salt!" she commanded, and buckets of icy-cold salt water were thrown on the backs of the condemned criminals. It revived them somewhat and washed the few streaks of blood off. Harriette was pleased, but not as pleased as she should be. These were welts, they were not wounds, this was not good enough. She returned from her inspection and informed Vortex that her initial command was clear... she intended to BRAND these men with her logo, not just temporarily mark them with it.